My Left Leg
by F.Finnigan
Summary: If Suzanne Collins had written the Hunger Games in Peeta's point of view...it probably wouldn't be anything like this. oh well. However, this is my version of the bloody good fun only found in Panem
1. Chapter 1

I looked around, nearly bouncing out of my shoes while we waited. The day had just begun and I knew right away it was going to be one that seemed to be of those ones that drag on forever. I wasn't the only one thinking that either. From the faces of everyone else my age I could tell a few things; half were excited, less were nearly falling asleep standing, and then there were the ones that cried.

It was the first day of school in district 12, and it didn't matter to me if I was back at the bakery or here in this cold, overcrowded square. I just wanted to run around- but my father's hand kept me tethered to one spot. Maybe it would be better if I could talk to Delly or someone, but we were waiting. Just waiting…

Frustrated, I kicked the hard ground, watching as the dust flew out in puffs of dirt. One rock clattered against the ground and skidded into the closest group of people. The community home kids.

"Peeta," my father whispered, with a tug of the hand. He had a smile on his face, but there was something sad about it. He never really smiled like Joey or Alek, my brothers- they weren't what you would call balls of sunshine themselves, but you absolutely knew when they were happy. "See that little girl?"

_What one? _

I looked around trying to follow his finger, but I couldn't see past Ben Weekes, a tall, skinny boy, and some other children from the community home. My mother told me once that he and his father used to live a few houses down, and that we played together a few times. But ever since Mr. Weekes got sick, and Ben went to live in the home, I hadn't seen him since. Now the only way I remembered him was by his emaciated limbs and sunken cheeks. "No."

Dad picks me up, and puts me on his shoulders. He must really have been excited. "Okay… Now, see the little girl with her hair braided in the red dress?"

"Yeah…" It was hard to miss her. She looked like a lot of other kids from the Seam, but her dress was really bright. It must be something about girls, and how they like to get dressed up and all, but you didn't see bright colors too much. Mama didn't care what I wore because she said it would end up with dust and flour on it anyway- so I never really noticed that everyone wears cool colors. She looked pretty.

"Her name is Katniss Everdeen." _What a weird name_… "When I was younger, I wanted to marry her mother. She was very pretty and nice-" it felt like _unlike your mother_ was implied "-but she ran away with a coal miner."

"A coal miner? Why?" It didn't make sense to me. Mama said they were the ones who went without food; the ones we'd find picking through our garbage at night. She also it would be better if the peacekeepers did their job and _cleaned_ up our district, but then there wouldn't be anyone left. "Why did she want a coal miner if she could've had you?"

Dad chuckled. I could feel my own body wobbling as he shook with laughter. "Well, you see that man there?" He nodded in their direction again. "Her father is very special. Because when he sings…even the birds stop to listen." He laughed again, but as that last note hung in the air, I could feel his shoulders scrunching up underneath me.

_Was it really just his voice?_ I kept wondering. Even though that was dad's excuse, I didn't think that was entirely all. The girl's father was smiling widely at his daughter- maybe trying to keep her awake- and it lit up his entire face. He looked happier than most. Besides, I never heard of birds stopping just to listen to one person.

"Okay, then." Dad sighed deeply, patting my leg. "I guess it's time for you to get down now. We're just about to go in."

He didn't talk much after that. Not as we walked inside with the other families, or when the teachers came to greet everyone. Only a short goodbye and I was by myself. It wasn't so bad really. After all the parents left, there were about two hundred of us all together. I found Delly and we started talking to some of the others in our class. Then, when she had to go to her own seat far away from mine, I was left with two boys from the Seam, Eban Davies and Rhett Sullivan- he would be chosen as a tribute at the age of fifteen. They looked just like that girl; dark brown hair, grey eyes, olive skin. They were skinnier than the rest of us, too. I wondered if she and her mother looked that skinny up close. I only got a quick look at her and her father, but it didn't seem that way.

The teacher walked up to the head of the room, tapping a microphone quickly before she spoke. We were going to start music class. "Does anyone here know the valley song?" she asked cheerfully, and looked around, starting at the right side- dad taught me about left and right, two months before when we were baking a pie in honor of Joey's first reaping. Then her eyes widened. "Oh! You there."

I looked over to see her hand lower, and then be escorted to the front of the room where the placed the girl on a stool. There was a blush to her cheeks as she began to fiddle with the ends of her braid.

"Would you like to sing it for us?"

She nodded, and began right away- the woman near fell out of her dress shoes, trying to get the mic up to the girl's mouth in time.

_Deep in the meadow, under the willow_

_A bed of grass, a soft green pillow_

_Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes_

_And when again they open, the sun will rise._

All I could remember was what my father told me about the miner. _When he sings…even the birds stop to listen._ That still might not have been real, but I bet if there were birds hear, you wouldn't have noticed them…

_Here it's safe, here it's warm_

_ Here the daisies guard you from every harm_

_ Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow _

_brings them true_

_ Here is the place where I love you._

The room began to fill with applause for the girl with the golden voice, but she just stood there smiling softly. This time she played with the folds of her red dress. You could tell she was proud of herself.

"That was lovely, sweetheart. Can you tell us your name?" the teacher said, touching her back.

"Katniss Everdeen."

"Happy Hunger Games!"

It's here again. I don't mean the eccentric, little woman with the pink hair. Nope. Just the annual reaping. It goes without saying that today will soon be the second worst day of two families' lives- the first being the day they watch their children butchered on live television.

"And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!" the announcer continues in a high-pitched squeak. Effie Trinket comes from the Capitol, so most of us feel sick in our stomachs at the sight of her, and not because she looks ridiculous. When she first showed up in district 12 today, it was bad enough in her bright green dress, but now she looks as if Haymitch Abernathy, our only drunken disgrace of a victor, shifted her hair over a bit during a wrestling match that was supposed to be a hug. Only Haymitch can barely stand on his own- let alone present himself with dignity- so why she didn't expect something bad to happen is beyond me.

You can tell she's embarrassed, but that makes it all the better for us. "I'd like to thank the many men and women of district twelve for the hospitality. It's such an honor to be part of festivities with each and every one of you," she says convincingly- except there's no one stupid enough to believe it.

"_Oh_, I bet," Eban mutters just loud enough for everyone in a five foot distance to hear. We shouldn't be talking, let alone laughing right now, but the nervousness making our heads feel light as air makes it difficult to keep our priorities straight.

"I don't see why she wouldn't."

"And to get things started- ladies first!" Effie says cheerfully, as though having your name chosen is a joyous occasion. I wonder what the people in the Capitol think of this part- sad, exciting, or just like watching animals in district 10, lining up for slaughter.

Her hand reaches into the bowl and plucks out a single piece of paper. I feel bad for the girl already, and just hope it isn't someone I know. District 12 has only had two victors in seventy-three years, and since Haymitch became a mentor, it wasn't surprising the last twenty some years hasn't produced any more.

"Primrose Everdeen."

…Yup. I know her…

How could I not? Not only is she Katniss' sister, but a twelve year old. A twelve year old! And what are the odds of that happening? I suppose she could have opted for the tessare, but that just didn't seem right. Most families who had one child submitting, would most likely have the others sign up for extra rations as well, but even more than their struggle to stay alive, it's hard to miss Katniss' affection for her sister. She would never let Primrose sign up more than she was required to.

One out of nearly three thousand slips. The odds are definitely not in her favor.

"Bad bit of luck for them, right?" the boy on my other side remarks. Kellen Reid. Sometimes I talk to him at school. "My mom told me they just got over losing their dad. Now the little one?"

"Yeah. The older one would've had at least a fighting chance," another behind me says. I don't look at his face though, because quite frankly I wouldn't put it past me to hit them.

"Hey, I got an idea. How 'bout we all shut up, hm?" Eban says. He gives a meaningful glare to everyone in our area, and then catches my gaze. He nods solemnly and looks ahead.

You grow up hearing about the history of Panem and the Hunger Games- the Quarter Quells are particularly crueler version of the annual televised slaughtering that occur every twenty five years. Haymitch won the second, where there were twice as many competitors than usual. The first required each district to vote for their own sacrifices. I know a district 1 boy won that year, but his names slip my memory. Having people start talking like that again about their friends and neighbors is just sick. It's one of the ways you never forget how much the Capitol really controls us.

Though, I shouldn't get mad at them, I guess. Even I thought about it. Maybe in a place like district 1 or 2 where it isn't a secret their tributes are trained fighters, a twelve year old girl would have a chance at survival- I doubt they ever had to have someone that young participate. But she lives here, and with Haymitch…yeah. There's no coming back to district 12 alive.

I tell myself that's why I can't help it as I look over at her. Katniss has to be frozen in shock. Everyone knows she loves her little sister more than anything, and she isn't the only one. My dad even likes the little blonde haired, blue eyed girl. A few times, he said he wouldn't have minded having daughters if they were like kind and pretty like Primrose, or strong and preserving like Katniss. Nearly everyone knows it's because of her, her family managed to stay alive…

"Prim!" Katniss screams, running out of line. The sixteen year olds make a path for her, seeming to expect it as much as I do. But the guards catch her, holding her back from her frightened sister. "Prim!" she yells louder in a strangled voice.

_Kept her family alive_, I repeat in my head. She would have done anything for them…Like dying herself before letting them- oh hell!

She pushes her way through, and is able to reach Prim who is barely keeping in hysterics. With a quick wave of her arm, Katniss pulls Prim behind her. "I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!" she says in a clear voice.

There's a brief silence before anyone speaks. No one really has the mind to, but someone has to, and of course it's good old Effie.

"Lovely!" she trills, her eyebrows knitted together. She's just as confused about what to do like the rest of us- no one ever volunteers here- but once the general shock fades away, it's hard to deny that Effie is pleased with the turn of events. "But I believe there's a small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and if one does come forth then we, um…"

"What does it matter?" The mayor says, dismissing her. It's the Hunger Games after all- as long as they have tributes and a good show, the Capitol is happy. The mayor on the other hand isn't- his daughter, Madge, has fewer people that she can consider friends, and I see her with Katniss more than anyone else. They must have talked about her at one point or another. "What does it matter? Let her come forward."

"No, Katniss! No!" Prim screams, clinging to her sister's arm. "You can't go!"

That's when we watch Gale move from the group of eighteen year olds. He's one of the closest people to the stage. Gale Hawthorne is taller _and _older than me, and to make my odds even worse, the two are _always_ together. Well, not in school, but that's because he's two years up. I see him come to the shop with Katniss every time to trade with my father.

Katniss continues to look forward, refusing to look down at her sister. I think she's trying to be brave again. The seam girl who illegally hunts to feed her family- no one would blame her for crying now, but she holds steady. "Let go!" she yells, but seems shocked when her sister listens.

"Up you go, Catnip," Gale says, ripping Prim off her and throwing her over his shoulder. She still thrashes in his arms, near sobs as she calls for her older sister, but there's no beating his strength.

_Catnip?_ Of course, they even have nicknames for each other.

"Well, bravo!" Effie shouts. _Bravo indeed, we all love it when someone's willing to die_. "That's the spirit of the Games! What's your name?"

Effie holds the microphone close to Katniss' mouth. Her voice is somewhat lower than before, but just as steady."Katniss Everdeen."

"I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we?" Effie laughs, turning something like a sibling's sacrifice into a bit about rivalry. "Come on, everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!"

No one but the pink-haired broad claps. Everyone else stands silently; raising their three fingers to their lips, and holds it out to Katniss. I stand by frozen, unwilling to repeat the motion. It's a silent gesture for the dead, or in her case, someone who will be soon enough. It's something people do in _honor_ of another, but I can only see how they have already written her off.

"Look at her. Look at this one!" Haymitch bursts out, breaking the quiet reverence to remind us he's the reason she's doomed. He stumbles across the stage and nearly falls on top of her, as he throws his arm around Katniss' shoulders. She makes a disgusted face, but holds it together much better than Effie. "I like her! Lots of… Spunk!" I swear I can see the spit fly from his mouth. "More than you!" he shouts at us, and then to the cameras, "More than you!"

The drunken ramblings are cut gratefully short as he tips forward, tumbling from the stage. Now really isn't the time, but a few people let at a laugh. We're already a joke of a district, what does it matter anymore?

The peacekeepers on the other hand, are a little more shocked. They move quickly, scrapping an unconscious Haymitch from the ground, and plop him onto a stretcher. Within minutes he's taken away, and so is the only entertainment factor district 12 has.

"What an exciting day!" Effie says, calling everyone's attention back to the fact we're only half done. "But more excitement to come! It's time to choose our boy tribute!"

I catch myself wondering what it would be like; if by some sick joke Gale's name was drawn. The little charade of strength Katniss has going on would be completely shattered. I don't want that to happen though- I just want her to get out of there alive, even if it means killing some boy from our district. If Gale were in that position, would he give himself up for her? I doubt the Capitol would allow him to do that, or maybe they would for the viewers' enjoyment- but that would mean forfeiting your life.

That doesn't seem likely- things change in the arena. Those two have families to take care of, so maybe he would fight her off.

If it were me, I don't know what I would do. I couldn't kill her, but I'm not prepared to die yet. At least I could take comfort in the fact that I only have five slips with my name on them. I'm more nervous about if Alek, with his seven, or Eban, with twenty, were pitted in the ring against her. Those two would be toast right away. Alek can just beat me in wrestling, but that's because of his height. He doesn't know how to cook, or hunt, or do anything really besides wrestle. But if that happens how could I watch the people I know being involved in something like that?

"Peeta Mellark." I look around, wondering if I did hear my name called. It couldn't be…It just can't…

When I see their faces, it's hard to escape the truth. Horror. Pity. Sadness.

That's when I feel that thing again. Yes, I'm scared out of my mind. I really don't want to die- but that wasn't what I meant.

I feel like I'm floating as I climb the stairs, and take my place next to Katniss Everdeen. For so many years I wished I could say something to her, but what could I say now? "_Hope you don't die?"_ I'm sure that would go over real well. She'd probably think I'm trying to provoke her. "_Don't kill me?" _Everyone's fighting for their own lives, so why would mine be spared? If she's going to get herself killed for Prim, what's stopping her from killing others for the girl as well? It's best if I just give up…

So as I stand there, I try to remain as collected as much as I'm able. Though I'm sure I look positively frightened compared to the girl on my left.

"_Now_," Effie laughs to herself, "if any boy or girl would like to volunteer as tribute, please step forward."

I think she half expects someone to step forward with the rate this year is going, but I know no one will. Most people have a hard enough time trying to stay alive here, where it's supposedly safe. What Katniss did for Primrose was incredible- most siblings bid each other farewell with tears, not resistance. I know that even if Joey were young enough, he wouldn't, and despite the fact Alek can, he won't.

"Very well," she continues, sounding slightly disappointed. "Mayor Undersee, if you would…"

The mayor takes his turn, and recites the Treaty of Treason- if I wasn't going to die, I'd probably be like Eban - standing in the audience, mouthing the words that we unconsciously memorize year after year. But when I find him in the crowd, his mouth is silent, eyes cast downwards.

"Now will the tributes shake hands?" he says to us. The words have no life, no hope to them.

Katniss turns to me holding her hand out. Without thinking I grab it. It may be a customary thing, but _I'm holding her hand_! It's the most notable interaction I've had with her these last eleven years that I don't care that she's technically being forced into it. Her hand feels so small and cold and really kind of delicate. In mine, it almost feels like a child's… well, given that child had callused fingers… Fingers that have killed countless living things…

_Oh god… Let it be known to all of Panem- I'm a goner._

_(Thanks for reading! Anyway, I'm not sure if I should continue, so if you like it or think i should write the next chapter, please message me. Thanks again) _


	2. Chapter 2

I'm still in a state of shock when I'm finally ushered into a spare room of the Justice Building. It's lavishly decorated, from the hanging painted glass ceiling lights, to the white fire place- I swear, the thing doesn't look like it's been used once! There's even a small gathering area in the middle of the room, complete with a couch. The deep red color of the cushions brings back thoughts of the oncoming terror. I'm not here to be comfortable. I'm here to say goodbye to my family and friends.

The peacekeepers remain outside the door, and I'm actually happy they're there. I don't want them anywhere near me, but if they have to be somewhere, I prefer them to be out of sight.

"What?" I hear my mother screaming down the hallway. Her voice carries in such a way, that I have no doubt even after I leave district 12, I will have no problems remembering. "Oh, move!"

She bursts through the door, leaving behind a disgruntled peacekeeper- he glares into the room, unable to leave his post. My father saunters in next, and then my brothers. Alek won't look at me, but I expected this. Nor can I blame him for anything.

"There you are!" she says, taking a seat and gives me a hug. It only lasts a second, and then she's looking around, more interested in the furnishings.

"Dad," I say, getting up to hug him. He feels frail. After a moment, he pushes me away, looking away. He's crying again.

"I'm sorry, Peeta," he snivels, placing his hand on my shoulder. It shakes.

"It's all right," I say, even though it makes no sense for us to be apologizing. I'm just completely lost at what to say. Today hasn't been a good day for me when it comes to forming mouth words. "I'll be fine. It's you I'm worried about. How are you going to take care of the shop?"

"Now's hardly the time for that."

"I don't see why not." I shrug. It's really the only thing that kept our family together. The only thing I can really think to talk about. "Your hands have gotten worse over the years."

"Don't worry about mom or dad. We'll still be around. Right, Alek?" Joey hits him the arm. It sounds like it must have hurt, but he doesn't flinch.

"Do we have a choice?"

"No," I say quickly.

We laugh a bit exaggeratedly- but if my name wasn't drawn, and I went on with my life, one day I would've taken over the shop. That includes looking after our parents, even after I would get married and my brothers left. So my life wouldn't be that astounding anyway. Maybe people will actually remember me for this. Not as another tribute from district 12, but maybe I could leave an impact on other people somehow.

If I can't live on, I will make sure my memory does.

I peek over at my mother who is oblivious to anything but the large portraits of Capitol officials. Dad is has moved back towards the door, playing with something in his pocket. Each tribute is allowed to bring something from home- I kind of wonder what he has.

"Hey," I say quietly. It isn't something my parents need to hear. I already have the slimmest chance of surviving this, but I just wanted to know what my brothers think I should do. Especially Alek- the reason he wouldn't volunteer was because of his girlfriend. If he were to be in the arena with her, what would he do? "I need to talk to you two."

Joey looks at me like I've gone crazy. "Why are you whispering?" Nope. This is just one of the few ways we express our version of sibling love.

…And people wonder why I'm good at wrestling.

Alek puts his hand on Joey's shoulder, and leans over. They both eye me like some wild animal. They don't even try to keep their voices down, while saying, "I think the tiny one has a secret."

"Oh…" Joey nods to himself. "That would explain the glare… You know, I didn't think it was possible- but he looks better with the other face."

"A miracle really."

"Everyone says we all look alike," I point out. I _may _be the tiniest, but no one can deny that we're related. Joey and I share the blonde hair and body structure, while Alek and I have similar facial features and blue eyes. Never mind my parents; I'm the combination of my brothers. "You can continue if you'd like, but I think that's just wasting the little time we have left."

I think I may have just ruined the tenuous atmosphere. Obviously, this was bound to happen- this time, after they leave, I'm not expecting to see my family ever again.

"What were you going to say?"

I open my mouth, but the words are caught in my throat. I look around- trying to recall the important thing I was going to say- when I notice there's something missing. "Where did dad go?"

They take a moment to search for him- seems pointless, there's nowhere to hide in here, plus the door is slightly ajar. Somehow, he managed to slip out right from under our noses.

We fall into silence, unsure of what to say to one another.

Joey and Alek continue to stand, but I make my way back to the couch, sitting as far away from my mother as possible. I always thought I was the closest one to our dad, but then why would he run off?

"Don't bother with him," mom says. "If he isn't strong enough to say goodbye to his son, then what good is he? You should just forget about him."

I keep my eyes on my hands, and begin playing with my knuckle to give me something to do. It's too hard not to tell her how he's more of a parent then she was, but my mouth would only leave trouble for everyone else. Although it would give me a bit of vindictive joy, no one should have to put up with her temper.

Sometimes I wondered how it would have been if it had only been the four of us. Happier? But she _is_ like glue, constantly keeping us united against one common enemy.

Eventually we all end up next to one another, talking about the past. How we used play roughly, until we were yelled at or I got hurt. Somehow we never broach the parts where our mom was heavily involved. It almost makes me think I had a good life so far. Then we move onto school.

"I couldn't believe you two won," Joey laughs- he makes it sound as though we had any competition amongst the scant amount of team members. Most of which didn't eat enough to have proper muscle.

"Yeah, yeah," Alek says, defiantly. "I don't really remember it well- just a vague blurry memory of a certain little brother losing to me last year."

"The why didn't you volunteer?"

Alek laughs. "I don't want to die."

That's when the peacekeeper steps into the room. I miss the words, but I understand one thing; this is it.

"That was very nice, Al," Joeys says, standing up. He walks over to me, and gives me a one armed hug. "You got to fight hard, little man," he says, pounding my back with his fist. I know it can't be the first time we've been actually affectionate with each other, but it certainly feels that way. "Let them see what a district 12 can do."

"You don't have to worry about that," mother says, stroking her fingers in patterns on the couch. She's enjoying the feeling of what being wealthy must be like, instead of a poor baker's wife. She swipes her hand over the area where her fingers left marks, leaving it clean. "We might actually have one this year."

"You really think so?" Alek asks, as if he doesn't believe she's being serious. We're all surprised.

"Of course," she says as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, and chuckles. "She's a survivor, that one."

"Mom!" Joey yells. It's difficult enough to put up with day after day, but now isn't the time. The woman is my mother, regardless of the fact that she hasn't acted like one in a long time, but I just can't look at her anymore. I'm sick to my stomach with fear and now revulsion of my own blood. I don't hate her- but she sickens me more than any person. Even more than the people in the Capitol who enjoy these Games.

"Oh don't make that face, Peeta," she sighs angrily, closing her eyes. Her fingertips press against her cheekbones and making irregular movements, trying to massage away the pain of another headache. It's something that I'm used to seeing, but something's different about it now. About her- perhaps it's because she looks like a stranger to me, but I begin to think that maybe she's the way she is because of stress. After all, what father tells his children how he wished he married another woman, and then leaves his doomed son without a word? It doesn't make sense to me.

"I think it's about time we left," Alek mutters.

While they begin to walk away, my mother opens her eyes again, reaches out an arm, and pulls me to her. I can feel her breathing, and it's steadier than mine.

"Be brave when you're in there," she says lowly, rubbing my back in a circular motion like when I was a small child- it was a very short period of time, but at least there was a point. I can feel a few warm tears staining my shirt, and they stop as suddenly as they came.

"Okay, mom," I say, and let her go. My brothers, waiting by the door, nod in my direction, and say one last "good luck." It's funny how in this moment we actually seem like a family. In their sad smiles, Alek and Joey resemble my father, and my mother resembles a human. Before she steps through the door, it looks like the woman wants to say something, but her face ices over and she's gone.

In the solitary confinement, there's nothing to distract me. Nothing to make me feel worse, but it's just so empty. I let out my anxiety, clutching onto one of the pillows, while the heaviest of shudders ripple through my body. Even if I come back to this town, I don't know what I have to come back to. There's no reason for them to miss me at the bakery or at home- most of the time I hardly saw any of them except at dinner time.

The tears appear on their own, but I don't bother stopping them- to be honest, I didn't even notice them until the door opened again. I throw the pillow away, and try to erase the evidence I had been crying, but whoever it is has seen everything. Great.

"Hey, man," he says quietly.

I wasn't really expecting anyone else, but I'm glad I could talk to Eban. He knows how deep I am right now.

"Hey," I manage to laugh, meeting his gaze with a weak smile. It doesn't sound right.

He takes one look at me, and though he gets rid of his pitied expression trying to seem collected and calm, but it's too late. The best we can do is trying to act normally.

"You know, your luck really sucks today," Eban notes, coming over to sit in a chair. He's probably enjoying it- not my situation, but the feeling of sitting in something so heavily padded with pillows. "It's bad enough being picked, but you just had to be paired up with hunter girl there."

"I know." I rub my eyes again. This time I make sure all the tears are gone.

"I mean, seriously. How could it get worse for you? First, just let me say I don't even know how you managed to keep this crush going for so long- you're almost like a saint. And second, just imagine; if she didn't volunteer for her sister, you'd still be in there with the little girl, and might even have to kill her off yourself…and then where'd you be?"

I manage to truly laugh. "You're really bad at cheering people up."

Eban glares at me, and moves to sit with his feet on the floor. "No matter what I say, is it really going to make you feel better?" he asks gravely, leaning forward, putting his elbows on his knees. "Put a little hop in your step, hm? No. I didn't think so. You're in the Hunger Games- there's no escaping it. You might as well get it all out now instead of fooling yourself."

"Does it look like I'm fooling myself?" I say, raising my voice. I'm not crying for Katniss, I was crying because I'm scared out of my mind!

"Then don't avoid it! You'll be fighting to the death! It doesn't matter if you like her or not, because I'm going to tell you right now- I doubt she even knew you were alive before this. Katniss Everdeen isn't going to spare you because you come from the same district. Once you two are in the ring, you can kiss away your fantasies."

"I agree. She'll be just like everyone else- just trying to stay alive." Exactly like the twenty-two other tributes. Only one of us wins and I doubt working in a bakery will turn any odds in my favor when I'm up against a career.

"Fine." He shakes his head. "It's just I saw your family walking out of here. Not that I expect them to be happy, but your mom looked like she was gonna eat someone's head off."

"Yeah. She probably was." Who's going to decorate the cakes in the window now?

"You know, if I saw you for the first time right now, I wouldn't expect you to win either," he says. "So, stop pitying yourself! Life sucks- get over it. You think some of the kids I live next to have a better chance at life, even if they're here? You just have to face this like you always do. When they drag you out of here, forget about district 12 and your family, and focus your time what you're going to do in the arena."

My eyebrows furrow, staring at him. When did he become the voice of reason? "I'll be sure to do that."

"On second thought…" I don't like the sound of that. "Maybe you should tell hunter girl that you always liked her. Sure she may not believe you, might even want to try and kill you, but both of you won't being coming back together if not at all. You should say something."

_Say something to her?_ Eleven years I wanted to do that. If it were just that easy to walk up to Katniss and say, _I like you_, I would've done that years ago!

"Hey, you don't look so good."

"I can't imagine why," I say dryly.

"Look- if it goes good, there'll still be twenty other tributes running around- they might kill her off before you have to. Just because you're short and lack talent and looks, like yours truly, doesn't mean you can't win this." And we're back to the jokes…

I roll my eyes- why does everyone go after my height? I'm not short. "Do I look like I'm going to give up?"

"Good… Though, I'm just going to say, if it comes down to the two of you; you're gonna die. I'm sorry, but she's been hunting for years. Everybody knows it. You have weight on your side, but that's pretty much it. If she gets her hands on a bow and arrows- you're screwed."

The door opens quicker this time. "It's time to go," a peacekeeper announces holding the door open for me.

I try to look more composed as I leave the room, but Eban has to throw in one last jab. "Just don't cry too loud. You know, on TV. It's bad enough your eyes are all red."

_What's the point?_ I ask myself. There's no way I can play it off like I wasn't crying. Plus maybe it might just play in my favor later on… Nope. Never mind. I'm not a girl. It would be opposite of helpful- instead of having a larger target on my head, I would even consider myself pointless to keep alive.

I don't have time to see any of my other friends. Delly must have been waiting, but I'm glad that she didn't. I don't want to bring more memories with me into the arena.

They lead me to a car outside. All the dividers have been taken away; only leaving one large screen- it will stay up until the victor arrives home. It's almost makes me want to vomit thinking how my face will be appearing all over the screen. The last thing I want is to repeat the coal dust costume- if I'm going to die, I don't want to parade around naked in front of crowds.

When the car stops, we're in front of the train station. Every three days a Capitol train comes to pick up their shipments of coal. Now, there is one of those fast looking, streamline engines, purring at my arrival. For a moment, Katniss even looks like she's slightly mesmerized by the metal beast.

The cameras flash in our faces, blinding my eyes. I know what they see. A girl who looks like she's plain bored to death with this whole thing, and a boy who was bawling his eyes out. Even without completed scores or interview, Katniss is going to get sponsors for her bravery alone.

Subtly I shift my posture so I'm standing up straight. The red eyes there's nothing I can do about, so I repeat in my head, _Yes, Panem. They're tears. Manly tears. Manly man tears…from a sixteen year old boy with a baby face. _

It doesn't help.

Once the reporters have their fill, I trudge my way onto the train. Style-wise, it's worse than my waiting room.

In school we were taught how the land mass we live on was once called North America. To this day, there are still animals that roam free, though most had been hunted to extinction before the Capitol rose to power. _Apparently_ they saved our society from the savagery it had become… Pretty ironic, considering how I am now one of thousands of sacrifices.

Back then, people used to bring all different types wild animals from all over the world, and stick them in cages, and called it a zoo.

Right now, Effie seems like one of those creatures. The only place she can look normal is surrounded by the brightly colored frills and fluff of the Capitol.

We're given our own rooms with an attached bathroom. Effie tells me quickly before leaving, that the draws are fully stocked with clothing. How in the world they know what will fit me beforehand baffles me… Do they chose the names earlier in the day, and then have the reaping as a formality? Or do they have barrels of clothing hidden somewhere, that they can just throw a heap into the room on short notice?

I'm too tired to think about it.

The dust from the courtyard sticks to my skin, making it uncomfortable to look at the clean bedding. Without ever really deciding to, I take a shower. Poking random buttons, scalding my flesh from the bone, finally I give up and jump out. The soap coats my hair, but there is no way I'm stepping foot back into that death trap…the sink will do.

When I'm dried, I put my clothing back on. They may be a little dirty, but they're the last thing I have from home. I thought my father would have given me something to take along, but silly me, my token is standard issue soot covered clothing.

After a while, it sounds like a cow is trying to plow its way into my room. And unless Effie has a grudge against the door, I'm guessing it's Haymitch.

Very carefully, I turn the knob, already poised to catch.

"It's time for dinner," he grunts. Haymitch's eyes blinks unevenly, even so, I follow him down the hallway. Part of me wonders where in the world he's going, but I don't ask. This isn't his first train ride.

"Where are you going?"

Huh? "To eat…?"

"It's the other way," he says, turning away again. "If they ask, I'm taking a nap."

"Okay." …That was a _great_ first impression.

The dining car isn't empty when I arrive, but it might as well be. Capitol attendants bustle around the room, bringing covered trays of food. They seat me at the table, setting a glass of water above my empty plate. Otherwise, it's completely silent until the womenfolk arrive.

Katniss enters the room right behind Effie. She changed. I liked the blue dress she was wearing, but she looks more comfortable in shirt and pants. This proves it. It's a big enough train; there must be some hidden room where they keep stock piles of clothing. How could they anticipate a random volunteer?

They both stop and stare at the empty chair to my side.

"Where's Haymitch?" Effie asks.

He must have known. Why wouldn't he? Haymitch may be a bumbling drunk, but this isn't the first year these two have been stuck together. "Last time I saw him, he said he was going to take a nap."

"Well, it's been an exhausting day," she says, cheerfully walking to the seat diagonal from mine. I still prefer Haymitch over Effie, but by the twist in Katniss' lips, I know she doesn't feel the same way.

Once everyone's seated, the attendants file in placing various trays of food in front of us. Thick carrot soup, steaming lamb chops and mashed potatoes. Next an odd colored cheese and fruit platter. Lastly is a chocolate cake the size of my head. After sixteen years of scrapping by on stale bread and various greens people could find around the edges of the fence, the only thing I don't try to fit in my stomach is the green salad.

Every year in the district 12 train, I don't believe there's a word called 'pacing.' We don't care about more, _enough_ more important- this is the most food we ever seen for us, and the richest, too. I begin to feel slightly off balanced, but I can't stop.

"At least you two have decent manners. The pair last year ate everything with their hands like a couple of savages. It completely upset my digestion." I may not have been close with them, but the boy tribute last year was in Alek's year. No one was surprised when his name was called, because he had been entered more than fifty times. Most people from the Seam have more.

I learn something new about Katniss. As she devours the remainder of the meal with her fingers, I see a self-satisfied smile playing around the edges of her lips. At the end, she surprises me again by wiping her fingers of on the table cloth.

Effie scowls, but doesn't say anything.

When we're finished, I feel like I am about to pop. Never in my life have I felt so full, but it's a good feeling.

I walk carefully down the hallway, a hand against my protruding stomach, as Effie leads us into another room.

We watch the results from the other districts. District 1 and 2's tribute both volunteer. That doesn't surprise me, but that doesn't make me feel any better. Actually it's worse. Even if I can say I am decent at hand to hand combat, the boy from 2 is one year older and larger. A girl from 4 catches my eye- when he name is called she looks at the victors and smiles widely. Creepy. There's a girl with naturally bright red hair, and a boy with a bad foot. Besides that, everyone seems pretty average.

The last couple before us is announced, and Katniss stares intently at the screen. The little girl is only twelve- the third, if you count Primrose. Her lips part slightly when their host asks for volunteers. No one steps forward. It's the first time I've seen her unshielded the entire day.

Then it's our turn. Dear old district 12. Effie and I have a hard time watching the screen without feeling ashamed. The television commenters try to make it seem like a hokey, endearing sort of craziness that envelopes the coal mining city. Even the three finger salute loses its meaning amidst the chaos.

"Your mentor has a lot to learn about presentation," Effie says, once the anthem ends. "A lot about televised behavior."

"He was drunk," I say. It's not really a good excuse, but I imagine it has to be a little difficult to be _presentable_ when you traded clarity for an empty bottle of spirits. It's something that isn't going to change even if our lives depend on it. "He's drunk every year."

"Every day," I hear Katniss mutter.

Despite my better sense, I can't help but laugh. I can clearly see in the set of Effie's mouth we really should be upset. But if I am going to be depressed my imminent doom, my last week alive will be pretty pathetic. I vow here and now, I'm not going to be another blubbering tribute.

"Yes. How odd you two find it amusing. You know your mentor is your lifeline to the world in these Games." _How could we forget? I don't want him in the first place. _"The one who advises you, lines up your sponsors, and dictates the presentation of any gifts. Haymitch can well be the difference between your life and your death!"

Right on cue, Haymitch staggers into the room. "I miss supper?" he asks, and vomits on the floor.

_I believe this is called foreshadowing, my dear Panem. I going to have to survive the Hunger Games without help from a mentor._


	3. Chapter 3

"So laugh away!"

I've never seen someone so gracefully run away in high heels. It's mainly because no one can afford more than one or two pairs of shoes, and the ones that can rather not wear them in our sooty little city. It's almost the equivalent of wearing white into the mines.

Watching Effie dances her way out of the room, in an odd combination of pink and green, I can't find it in me to resent her.

The room smells horrible, and the sight of Haymitch falling face first into his vomit is almost too much for me to bear. He futilely flounders around on the ground, hands slipping as they try to push his body up.

It all turns my stomach, making it more difficult to seem strong. And right now, that means a lot.

Petrified at the reaping, crying for the cameras- there's an old saying, three strikes you're out. I think it was for some type of game, but we don't have many of those in district 12.

I glance over at Katniss, wondering how she's handling our mentor's latest drunken act. Part of me hopes she cries and darts from the room like Effie. I've already dug myself a hole and this could be the perfect moment to redeem myself. Offer to take care of the sloppy Haymitch, and show Katniss that I do indeed have a masculine side. That I'm stronger than that little girl from 11, who didn't even shed one tear.

However, she doesn't look any more uncomfortable than I do. Damn it!

She meets my gaze, as if trying to measure me as well. Without a word, she bends over taking one of his arms, I quickly copy her. This must be one of those wordless conversation things her and Gale mastered out in the woods- I'm not him, but I will help her without being told to do so. We end up half walking half dragging Haymitch back to his room. His soiled fingers grip at my sleeve.

"I tripped?" he grumbles, eyes half open, but staring at me. "Smells bad."

_I would imagine so._ I swallow hard, watching as Haymitch wipes his face. Every inch of skin below his eyes is now covered with vomit.

"Let's get you back to your room," I say indifferently. "Clean you up a bit." _A lot._

When we step through the door, we hit the second dilemma. Should we throw him in bed, and let Haymitch wake up in his own filth, or be good human beings and help the inebriated victor? We chose the highroad.

The room is set up similarly to mine and maybe Katniss', too. A different color scheme, and furniture, but there's a bathroom. I guess it wouldn't be difficult for anyone to find- two doors, and one of them we just walked through. Although it was an option, personally, I never considered setting Haymitch on the bed- it seems a bit childish to torture the poor, comfy covers with an even more disgusting version of the victor.

I have the strange urge to hurl our mentor into the bathtub and forget about him. He would wake up disgusting even on his own level of awful, and better yet- he probably wouldn't remember Katniss and I were even here.

We set him down, and I turn on the shower head. He sputters a little as the water hits his face.

Katniss stands wide eyed behind my shoulder. I know she doesn't have the strength to leave, but she doesn't have the will to stay and see what Haymitch Abernathy _looks_ like- and I don't see a way around stripping him down.

"It's okay," I tell her. This is going to be a very long and scarring night. "I'll take it from here."

"All right." I'd feel relieved, too. "I can send one of the Capitol people to help you."

He might be a victor, but Haymitch isn't one of them. The attendants won't treat him kindly. The Capitol pays for them to live comfortably, but forces victors year after year to join the fun once more, and have teenagers' blood thrust upon their hands. I'm starting to see why vodka would sound heavenly. "No. I don't want them."

She nods, maybe thinking the same thing. Put aside the fact I've liked her for five years- I have no idea what she thinks.

I wait until I hear the door click closed, before I begin the arduous task of cleaning. To my surprise, although he has warm water spraying against his skin, Haymitch is most definitely sleeping.

After a few minutes the shower alone seems to have gotten rid of the worst, but not everything.

As I unbutton his shirt, I begin talking to distract myself. It's bad enough seeing my brothers run around exposing their "modesty" to the world, but this is much, much worse.

"This is the first time I actually talk to her, and it's about getting vomit off of you. Perfect. I mean, I couldn't say a single word to her for years. Now, we're stuck together, so I thought I should make the most of it, you know? At least leave her with some impression of me before one of us dies."

It feels kind of good to vent, even if my audience might as well be on a different planet, snores rippling free from his chest.

"Delly used to ask me about her. _Somehow_-" Eban "-she found out I liked Katniss and went on a tirade trying to set us up." I was really happy that escapade failed. There was no way I could compete with Gale Hawthorne. I wonder if Alek's girlfriend wasn't his ex, and he didn't make eyes at Katniss, if I would like him…"Who would have thought the Hunger Games could actually have a good side?"

There's still too much horrible to compete with any silver lining- after all, what is talking to her for a week, compared to being pit against one another all too soon?

At first, I'm a little hesitant to experiment the shower's workings on my mentor, but I get over that quickly. I press a random button, and pink foam spits out mainly coating Haymitch's head and chest. I quickly wipe the suds away from his eyes and mouth. The water washes the rest of the soap and the filth away. It may not be perfect, but since I can't see anything gross on him, and Haymitch smells like roses instead of spirits- I'm going to have to remember that button…the small, red bubbly one.

Overall, it's good enough.

"Did you ever feel that way?" I ask, not expecting much of an answer. I just I want to know, I'm not the only one who doesn't look at this an irrefutable death sentence.

I turn off the shower and throw a towel over Haymitch, quickly patting his upper body dry. I'm not planning to be thorough.

…Though, if Haymitch had any ounce of optimism in him it's been hiding in sobriety. "Probably not. It's been almost twenty-five years, right?"

He moans, blinking until his eyes open. Before I realize it, he throws a fist into my stomach- I gasp out of surprise rather than pain.

There's a moment, where he looks around disoriented. "Where's my knife?" Haymitch finally grumbles, clutching his wrist.

_Was he trying to stab me?_ "No idea." And I'm not going to look for it either.

He begins to push himself up. "…Where's the girl?"

I blush, surprised that he was even aware enough that there were two of us. Let alone, Katniss is a female. "I told her to leave," I say, putting an arm around my shoulder again, and hoisting him up.

"I'm not even going to ask about my clothing…" he says, giving me a strange look.

Without answering, I almost run into the other room, and pull out an outfit. I don't care what it looks like. Does he think I stripped him down for the hell of it? Even so, it should be obvious what was going on since I didn't have the gall to remove his pants. Those suckers are wet as can be; still clinging to Haymitch's swollen legs.

"Here you go," I say, gingerly passing him the clothing. "You can get dressed by yourself, right?"

"Why? Would you help me?" he asks, laughing. Something about his tone rings with hostility- probably because he hates the fact I'm nearly babying him. Maybe not the best way to offer a helping hand, but I just don't want to wake up in the morning to find Effie yelping about how Haymitch slipped and bashed his head on the sink. He'd be no use to me- _us_- then.

"…Yes. I would," I resolve. He may be a far cry from what we need, but if something he can tell us will help either me or Katniss in the end, I'll do whatever it takes.

He gives me a long look, through half closed eyes. After a moment, he nods smirking through his fading stupor. "Well then, keep up the good work," Haymitch says, only grabbing the shirt. He finally manages to slip his arms through the sleeves after a little bit of difficultly. "Help me to the bed, and you can go."

He regained his footing quickly, which makes my job a lot easier. However, the trek back to my room is short, but it feels like I've been walking forever. My gut swells with dread.

And what did he mean, with _keep up the good work_?

Was that supposed to be advice?

My head only spins in circles- too busy to fall asleep, too tired to focus.

The only thing I can do I sit on the foot of the bed, remembering the faces I've met over the years. Those times I've spent in district 12 seem like distant fantasies as we silently drift closer to the Capitol. And it's for that reason I lock each name away, save for those closest to me. Dad, Joey, Alek, Eban, Delly. Katniss.

I wonder if this is how every tribute before me has felt. Maybe not the first years- they were probably horrified at the end of the war, and thought "The Hunger Games" would be a joke. Each district had fought together, so I think they might have thought those ties would hold through. It never does. There has and will always be one winner standing alone over a field of blood.

I'm not too sure if I want to come back from this anymore. Keeping my life sounds great, but if I have to kill someone else, how could I wake up each morning like nothing happened? Clearly Haymitch changed from his teens, unless he drank himself senseless making the other tributes think he was already dead or dying. The smell probably would have helped in his favor.

What can I use? I'm not quick. I don't know how to use any weapons.

At some point during the night, while I was recalling past years, and their victors tactics in my head, I drift off. Not every year is the victor a beast of a child with amazing skills- sometimes the winner is just the luckiest. The last thing I remember is the image of a dam breaking, releasing a large gush of water over the remaining tributes. A twelve year old boy being thrown backwards into a tree…

I blink and it's morning again. We're still moving. Outside my window, the world has changed from the uneven, green wilderness I'm used to seeing just beyond the reaches of the fence, to a flat treeless plain.

For the first time, I open my own drawers. Different colored dress shirts, pants, and well, that's about it. Everything is made of expensive fabric- I don't know much, but it doesn't feel like the clothing in district 12. I grab a plain white shirt and a dark pair of pants- it's the closest I'll have to normalcy in the Capitol.

Somehow Haymitch woke up early- probably out of some system he and Effie decided long ago- and comes to retrieve me. "Wake up," he says, pounding on the door. "Come on, boy. It's time to eat."

I follow skeptically this time. The prospect of food sounds amazing- after last night's banquet, I can't imagine what they have waiting- but eating with Haymitch after last night…

_Please throw me into the arena now._

"So why did you send the girl out last night?" he asks, after we've been served.

Hardboiled eggs- every time I try to take the shell off one, the white inside breaks- slices of ham, light colored buns with flat tops I have no name for, piles of fried potatoes. After last night, I take my time eating, savoring the tastes rather than filling my stomach.

I look down, taking a long sip of hot chocolate. _Why? Because there was the chance I had to strip you down to nothing? Because even though I wanted someone else to help, I felt I should do it myself?_ "She's a girl- I couldn't do that to her."

He laughs. I get the feeling; he finds the fact that I don't think Katniss is exasperating, interesting, and therefore hysterical. It's a good thing he doesn't know I have feelings for her. "You two on friendly terms?"

I shrug. "…I don't mind her."

He laughs through his nose. "She's a sweetheart, isn't she?" Haymitch gives me a look, and I begin to wonder if he's pretending he didn't hear what I said last night.

"You look terrible," Effie grouses. "May I have a coffee? Black, with sugar," she tells an attendant when they come to her side.

Haymitch smirks, looking at his shirt. "Do I? The boy picked this out."

"Last night after you left, Katniss and I brought Haymitch back to his room," I explain when Effie looks clearly lost.

"Did a lovely job of cleaning me up, too."

I grab a roll from the basket and keep my eyes down, focused on eating.

"I meant your face. We'll have to someone to take care of it."

"You mean, I can look like you?" he says, eyeing her hair. "Pink isn't really my color though." Haymitch laughs as Effie's face turns beat red.

She stands up, grabbing her cup from the man, and turns to leave.

He doesn't stop laughing until she leaves the room- of course, as she reaches the door Katniss walks in. "Sit down! Sit down!" he says, waving her to the table.

Katniss' eyebrows furrow, but she walks over taking a seat across from me. When they place a platter in front of her, her eyes glaze over with childlike excitement. Everything about Capitol food is almost worth the difficulty of sleeping. She blankly stares at a bowl of biscuits- they're similar to things we make back at the bakery.

I smile, taking a large bite of bread. I wash it down with hot chocolate. The warm, chocolaty, liquid version of heaven heats my body from my stomach outwards.

Her eyes continue to sweep around, until an attendant gives her a cup of her own.

"They call it hot chocolate," I say. "It's good."

She doesn't question it, and quickly empties a cup. Then a second. Meanwhile Haymitch is back to downing spirits. At this rate, it'll be another assisted shower tonight.

We're silent for a while; Katniss happily gorging herself, Haymitch joyfully drinking, and I'm battling the urge to eat myself sick. After finishing off half a plate of mixed fruit, I go back to hot chocolate. I found out the bread tastes even better when I dunk it.

"So, you're supposed to give us advice." Katniss stares at him.

"Here's some advice. Stay alive." Haymitch bursts out laughing. Does he honestly think it's funny that we're going to die? I don't care what Effie said about him being our only hope- they should bloody well give us a different victor how would at least give a care!

When Katniss meets my eyes, I completely lose it. She actually has a family that relies on her to survive. A lot of people rely on them. Katniss for the meat she brings to the hob, and her mother for healing the sick that can't afford better medicine.

Besides what does Haymitch have to lose? He's stuck here with the rest of us for the time being.

"That's very funny," I say shortly, glaring at the glass of spirits clenched tightly in his hand. Drinking is more important to him than trying to help save the lives of others. My hand shoots out knocking it away before my brain processes what I've done. Still, I regret nothing. "Only not to us."

For the love of-! This is the second time! This time it's knuckles against cheek-

Wait a moment. I don't remember falling from my chair.

I hear a low thud against the table, and Haymitch stops moving.

"Well, what's this? Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?" he demands.

I stand up, biting back the tears. It doesn't hurt enough to cry, but just enough to affect my tear ducts. Even though I'm no medic, I know enough that ice would help, so I take a handful. The cold tingles my palm, turning my skin numb before it reaches my face.

"No," Haymitch orders; I stop. "Let the bruise show. The audience will think you've mixed it up with another tribute before you've even made it to the arena."

_How is that good for me?_ If anything, that will make the gamemakers angry. "That's against the rules."

"Only if they catch you," he says conspiratorially. "That bruise will say you fought, you weren't caught, even better." He looks at Katniss with a wicked glint to his eye. "Can you hit anything with that knife besides a table?"

Katniss doesn't smile, but I can tell she's angry. Even more, she wants to prove her worth. But what Katniss will never understand, is she doesn't have to try or prove or convince others. She rips it out of the wood, and with a quick flick of the wrist sends it flying into the wall. It hangs there, stuck between two panels.

Eban was right- _she's going to kill me!_

Haymitch smiles in return.

"Stand over here. Both of you," he says, and this time I listen. Maybe it's because he seems more sober than I ever have seen him, but if I can get a minute of well thought out advice from a victor- I'll take it. He walks around, poking my arms, staring at my legs, putting his nose right in our faces. "Well, you're not entirely hopeless. Seem fit. And once the stylists get hold of you, you'll be attractive enough."

_Sure. Call me Finnick Odair. _

"All right, I'll make a deal with you." He gives me a hard look before continuing. "You don't interfere with my drinking, and I'll stay sober enough to help you."

I never expected to get this much. "Fine."

"So help us," Katniss demands. "When we get to the arena, what's the best strategy at the Cornucopia for someone-"

He scrunches his eyes, as though her voice is giving him a headache. "One thing at a time. In a few minutes, we'll be pulling into the station. You'll be put in the hands of your stylists. You're not going to like what they do to you. But no matter what it is, don't resist."

"But-"

"No buts. Don't resist." Before either of us can say another word, Haymitch grabs a bottle and leaves the car.

The car is submerged in darkness as we head into a tunnel. It's so quiet and with the lack of light, becomes somewhat eerie. I start to wonder if this is what the mines are like.

The train begins to slow, and bright light floods the car, blinding me for a moment. Once I get my eyesight back Katniss and I run to the windows. The Capitol is different than what I've seen on TV. The buildings are taller than trees, and sparkle in the sunlight. People walk down the road, and I smile- Effie seems tame compared to most of them. Deep purples, bright pinks, women with exaggerated puffy sleeves, men in full suits. This is another world, where everything is brilliantly colored, and wonderfully crafted.

When people notice the train, they point and wave. One man has bright orange hair, and I wonder briefly if I would look like him if I lived in the Capitol. But as soon as I try to picture myself in his pink suit and tattoos, I can't help but laugh. They don't scare me. They're ridiculous, but if it takes popularity to win…

Katniss gives me a strange look as though I've gone crazy for waving. I almost forgot she likes to talk using expressions_… "What are you doing? You know they're rooting for you die. That's why we're here."_ I think it's along those lines.

A little girl sitting on her father's shoulders catches my eye. They start out so young, being transformed by the Capitol's fashion. She has green hair- brighter than any normal hue- and crazy looking clothing, but she looks so happy. Even if they're minds are in the right place, their hearts can't be all bad. "Who knows. One of them might be rich."

Compared to us, they're all kings and queens- I just hope their _favor_ turns the odds in ours.


	4. Chapter 4

Haymitch and Effie walk us into the Training Center as far as the elevators. Even though we've only met a day ago, I find myself craving their odd company as I'm introduced to a strange colored hoard known as my styling teams.

A small woman, with blue tinted hair at the roots fading to yellow is the first to reach me. She introduces herself as Zia. Calix- naturally dark hair, but has a certain affinity for silver tattoos- and Ivo- a mousy man, with wispy purple hair and pointed cheek bones- are the other two helpers, and seem less exuberant than their female counterpart.

While I smile, trying to mentally prepare myself for whatever is about to come, when their hands begin grabbing at my clothing, forcefully helping me undress.

Ivo tsks, walking around me the same way Haymitch had. "You can always tell which tributes are from district 12," he continues, as they usher me to a large silver table. "The soot," he says, pointing out miniscule specs of dust caught in my nails- I thought I cleaned myself very thoroughly, but I must be mistaken. "We need to get you sparkling before Portia joins us."

"Okay, then. Let's do this," I agree, trying to sound convincing.

It works, and they smile at my enthusiasm, and continue to do so as they unleash a barrage of steaming water and gritty foam. I'm suffocating in soap, but I hold perfectly still, letting the scalding water clear most of it away.

The next phrase is removing the hair on my arms and chest. It seems unnecessary, but grit my teeth, breathing deeply right before each time Calix pulls a strip away. I don't have much body hair, but somehow, he keeps finding more and more to rid.

"Just a few more," he promises, in a sing-song voice.

"I'm good," I lie literally through my teeth, as another strip feels like it's ripped off more than some stray hairs.

I tell myself the worst is done, and torture wise, it is. They rub lotion all over my tingling body and I relax as the worst pains seem to subside.

"Phase one is done!" Zia trills, scuttling to my side. She hurriedly whips a bowl of white- I don't know what to call it, but it looks like overheated frosting. The smell, however, is a jarring mix of chemicals. "How are you doing? Not too hungry?"

I notice her glancing over me, like I'm a poor, malnourished child. "I'm fine," I say, lightly, but I can't help but wonder if they've ever seen one of the Seem children, or their equivalent.

"Great! Now it's all about fine tuning, so just sit back and relax. You won't even recognize yourself when we're done."

I smile anemically- _how I hope that isn't true_.

With a carefree laugh, Zia puts the foul smelling stuff in my hair. Once I get over the smell, I realize despite Zia's massaging fingers it irritates my scalp.

_Don't resist, _I begin chanting in my head when Ivo grabs one of my hands. I can't imagine what they're doing to Katniss. If they're playing with my nails, I wonder if she'll be sporting bedazzled claws like Effie.

After Zia rinses my hair, she pulls out scissors. As the trimmings drop to the ground, I catch a glimpse of its new color. They lightened it a tad, giving my hair sunnier tones.

"Do you shave yet?" Calix asks, trying to pry the lid off of a jar.

"No…?" I promised I wouldn't complain, but they're mixtures beginning to frighten me. I especially do not like the looks of the green goop in his hands.

He sighs, "Oh well. Better be safe than sorry." Once Zia is out of the way, Calix immediately goes to work slopping warm goo around my mouth to the hairline. Luckily, it doesn't smell as strong as the hair dye, but after a few minutes my skin feels warmer. Weirder. I can still feel the burning sensation even after the goo is removed.

"You're taking this pretty well," Calix notes. "Last year, the boy kept complaining because he didn't like the heat. Very annoying for an eighteen year old."

"But your fun to work with," Zia continues.

"Thanks." I'm taking that as the highest of compliments attainable. "I'm not having such a bad time myself," I say, even though I experienced more pain and torture in this Remake Center than ever before in my last sixteen years.

"I just can't stand it when the tributes won't let us help them." Ivo touches his cheek dramatically- he makes it seem like a great tragedy. "Everyone knows the better you look, the more sponsors line up. Just look at Blaze, Ruby, Finnick…"

"Oh! I heard from Mona that she has his tribute. I guess, that means she gets to meet _Odair_ later," Zia swoons. "District Four usually has good lookers though. Oh! And District One, too."

"What do you think, Peeta?" Ivo asks.

I start- it's the first time I think they've used my name. "I don't know," I mutter.

Even though we've never missed a single game, I never try to remember the tributes afterwards. If you personally knew them, they become something of a taboo subject locked in your memories- but as hard as I try, sometimes it's too difficult to forget the ones who were particularly gruesome. Titus, Enobaria, Brutus…

"You look like a Naomi boy to me," Calix notes, joining Ivo with a pair of tweezers. He focuses on my eyebrows with a determined look. "Hold still for a moment."

"I'd say he's more of an Annie. Naomi was a bit…" Zia drifts off looking for the right word. "She was very smart, but I bet you like the quiet girls, right?"

I have no idea who they're talking about. "You're good."

After what they call their finishing touches, the trio leaves the room. My eyes scour the surroundings for any distraction, but there is none. With my prep team in the small space, I hadn't realized it was colorless and bare- it's an anomaly for the Capitol. Without their conversations to keep me focused, I become too tired to think of useful strategies to help win, but too distracted not to notice the glaring, obvious problem with this set up.

Portia and Cinna are the district 12 stylists- one male, one female- so why isn't Cinna mine? Personally I have no problem with nudity- it's embarrassing, but so is crying in front of cameras- sometimes you just have to grin and '_bare_' it. My main concern is Katniss- it seems odd to me, and must be for her as well, to strip down in front of some of the opposite sex.

…Cinna is a man's name, right?

The door opens, and a young woman comes in. After meeting with my prep team, I imagined Portia to be a little crazier; a few tattoos, maybe a few body enhancement surgeries for the fun. She _does_ have unnatural white blonde hair, and a certain flare for darkening her lips and eyes- but other than that, she's semi-normal. "Hello, I'm Portia."

"Hi-" I bite my tongue before I introduce myself- given the situation, it seems pretty ridiculous. I wouldn't be surprised if people were already placing all sorts of bets on my name. "Nice to meet you."

"It's an honor," she says professionally. Portia walks around me, nodding, sometimes narrowing her eyes. "How was earlier? Not too bad, right?" She stops directly in front of my face, grabbing at my chin. Her fingers trail along the outside of Haymitch's bruise.

"Yeah, not _too_ bad. I can't ever remember feeling this clean." I might be missing some skin, but the amount I have left is floral scented and stinging.

"What happened? I didn't notice that during the Reaping."

"There was an accident on the train."

"You weren't fighting with the other tribute, were you?" she asks.

I laugh, "No." "It was nothing like that." The Capitol can think whatever they want, but the stylists wouldn't be inclined to keep it a secret from the gamemakers if that were true.

"Good." She sighs, smiling slightly. "That's good to hear. While we talk, would you like something to eat?"

Capitol food- "Yes."

She presses a button, and two dishes of white sauce covered noodles appear along with glasses filled with red juice, and purple melon slices. Portia doesn't bother with her own portion, seeming to enjoy watching me eat the same way Delly would marvel at the rare animals grazing just beyond the fence.

Back in District 12, seeing a turkey or a squirrel was one thing, but deer drew the big crowds. They were like the careers of nature, everyone enjoys seeing them, but their death is favored. Everyone rather see the underdogs, the small prey that too easily defeated, run free.

It's the same in the games. I have no idea where I stand on that chart, but if I want to have any shot at surviving, I can only pray Portia doesn't make me look too ridiculous tonight.

"Anyways," she begins after a few minutes, "later tonight, you will be going through the city. My partner, Cinna, and I have been working on your costumes for a while, and I think we have them just right. You see, we had a harder time with district 12, because our stylists have tried every angle of a coal miner they could imagine."

I wonder if this is the same speech they gave to the tributes that were paraded in the nude.

"So, tonight we'll be focusing on coal itself, rather than the people."

Yup. Definitely the same speech.

"What did he say?" she mutters to herself. Suddenly her eyes light up. "Peeta, what do you do with coal?"

I furrow my eyebrows. "Light it on fire…?"

"Exactly! That's what we'll be doing tonight."

"You're lighting me on fire?" I ask, trying to seem less terrified. Did Katniss agree to this? Does Haymitch know what these people are planning?

"Well, not quite. Cinna and I found a way to simulate it- so you shouldn't be burned. Also, this," she says, pulling out a black jumpsuit. "I think they're just perfect. Dark, deadly, and they won't take away from the main attraction."

_A roasting boy and girl_.

"You'll look amazing."

I nod, absent mindedly tossing strawberries into my mouth.

My prep team comes back into the room carrying different bags. Portia personally steps in only to apply make-up. Though I expected her to cover the bruise, she neglects the area almost entirely- Haymitch must have spoken to her. Either according to my mentor's instructions or of her own plan, the Capitol will see the burning, bruised baker of district twelve tonight.

Lastly, I slip into the black jumper, and pull on a pair of knee high boots. All I can say is, if Katniss is wearing the same thing she probably looks a whole lot better than I do. Never in my life have I ever worn anything this tight fitting, and I just feel awkward.

Portia stands behind me, with the same pleased look on her face.

I like my stylist, but only another man could possibly understand how uncomfortable this is. It makes me wonder if Katniss has the same problem with Cinna, only a little different. Maybe he went overboard with makeup, turning her into a creature you'd only find within the Capitol.

Portia walks up, adjusting the collar. "You look like you want to say something," she accuses.

I look down. "It's nothing important…" I wish I said, however, what came out of my mouth was, "I just was wondering why you chose to be my stylist." Haymitch is going to even up my cheeks tonight. Even to me that sounded a bit ungrateful.

The question catches her off guard, and it takes a moment for her to answer. "It's a long story, but I met Haymitch last year. In the end, Cinna and I asked for District 12, and I can't say I regret it."

I'm shocked. I didn't know Haymitch could be sober without striking deals. Portia and Cinna didn't need him as far as I know, so how in the world did he manage to enlist both?

"Is something wrong?" she asks.

I shake my head. "No. It's just I meant, mine personally, and not Katniss'? Or vice versa."

She raises her eyebrows. "Are you a shy one?"

"No," I laugh. Haven't I been sitting here nude and perfectly normal? "I sound stupid, don't I?"

"No, you don't. I chose _you_ because my forte is men's wear; Cinna's is women's. As plain as that."

"That makes sense."

When I emerge, the trio bursts into cheers of joy. Zia and Calix, become overly emotional, and hug me before we leave to meet up with Katniss. Towards the elavators, three walk quickly ahead- I remind myself I shouldn't laugh, but the way they hustle away, looks like some weird birdlike dance.

The whole spectacle becomes worse when I see Katniss- her prep team seem just as high strung as mine, if not more. The six jumble together in an odd mix of color. Between the shrills and cackling laughter, it's hard to remember these brightly colored objects are people.

Katniss on the other hand looks so much the same, but simultaneously different. Her makeup makes her features look sharper, but still recognizable.

Suddenly, I can't wait to see what the fire looks like.

I almost miss her stylist, Cinna- the one who plans to set us aflame in front of Panem. If it weren't for the exuberant compliments I doubt I would have known he was part of the team. Plain, brown hair, simply dressed in black, and the most astounding fact- for any Capitol citizen- no makeup. Even more surprising, he seems happy enough to escape, as he leads the four of us into the elevator.

On the very lowest level of the Remake Center, the room is crowded with people filing around the horses.

I smile, watching other tributes prodded onto their chariots. District eleven's tributes are dressed in costume version of farmers' rags, but the difference in their size makes them seem even more ridiculous. Far down the line, I catch a glimpse of the boy from District Two is trying to regain whatever pride remains, leaning against the wall in a golden skirt. During the Reaping video, I was instantly worried about him- now pity doesn't even cover it.

When Portia zipped up this getup, I was mortified. Now, I can't complain- compared to other costumes this is the most tamed I have seen in years. Not to mention the most concealed either.

Our horses are coal black and surprisingly calm. I reach out a hand, touching the right ones neck before hopping onto the chariot.

I feel much taller after I step on- luckily most of the other districts are easily visible from my viewpoint. Back in Twelve, whenever the parade aired, Eban, Delly, and I would gather in front of the justice building. Though we knew it should be met with a sobering reminder that the majority were about to die, we couldn't help but laugh at the tributes' costumes.

Once I get my fill, I stand perfectly still, listening to the muted sound of the crowds cheering on the other side of the large stable doors.

Portia grabs me by the arms, gently tugging me to an angle. "You want to face the crowd- make sure they see your face," she says with a wink.

"What do you think?" Katniss asks warily, after our stylists left. Cinna needed one more consultation before they play with fire. The sick feeling in my stomach from earlier gets worse, when the mad genius himself doubts his creations safety. "About the fire?"

I breathe a sigh of relief- she's just as nervous as I am. "I'll rip off your cape if you'll rip off mine."

"Deal," she agrees. "I know we promised Haymitch we'd do exactly what they said, but I don't think he considered this angle."

Speaking of which, I don't see him anywhere. "Where is Haymitch, anyway? Isn't he supposed to protect us from this sort of thing?"

She smirks. "With all that alcohol in him, it's probably not advisable to have him around an open flame."

Our laughter is cut off as the music thunders over the speakers, and the doors begin to open. Far ahead the line begins moving forward into the streets. Lights shine down brightly illuminating the path and cheering crowds, though the skies above are dark.

District One- I can just make out their bright pink headdresses- Two, Three, Four. Just as Eleven begins to move, Katniss gasps- it's only then I notice dancing behind us, and the flames flowing down her back. Other than the initial shock, she seems fine. Then Cinna jumps up onto the chariot, holding the flame to our headdresses. I resist the urge to cringe as he holds the flame closer and closer to my head.

"It works," Cinna says happily. He reaches over touching her chin gently. "Remember, heads high. Smiles. They're going to love you!"

He jumps down, and runs to the sidelines with Portia. There he begins shouting at us, pointing to his hand.

…_Am I hearing him right? _

"What's he saying?" Katniss asks, staring at me. Her green eyes look impossibly lighter- the simple makeup seems like artwork itself, drawing the lines of her cheeks higher, her eyes bolder. She's amazing.

I swallow. "I think he said for us to hold hands," I tell Katniss, grabbing hers before she can object.

The chariot rolls forward, and were engulfed into the city.

The screaming takes hold of all my senses, draining the fear I once felt. They love us. The twenty minute ride to City Center is a blur of "District 12" cheers and our faces projected onto large screens for everyone to see. Even though we appear to be on fire, the hand gripping to mine is the warmest thing.

I smile proudly, hoping that Eban is watching right now.

The screens are dragged away from the other districts, focusing on us. The fire illuminates our path, and the audience is in awe. Katniss, the girl on fire. People throw roses, reaching towards us. Katniss shines in the fire light, her excited eyes the brightest shade of green I have ever seen. From the corner of my eyes, I watch as she manages to snag one out of the air, and happily blows a kiss back to the sender.

She's won them over completely.

The chariots enter City Circle; I notice Snow in the distance, watching the twenty-four of us from his balcony. I've seen his stark white hair and deformed face, and heard his voice so many times, but it seems unreal to me. The games are really starting, and I'm really here. And so is Katniss.

It's easy to forget, dressed up in over the top outfits that at the end of the week, the fighting begins. Soon enough only one victor will remain, and I can only pray that it's me.

Katniss tries to slip her hand free, but I clutch it tighter.

"No, don't let go of me. Please," I say, trying to mask my pleading. She thinks of us as rivals- I know it- but for now I want to forget it all. "I might fall out of this thing."

"Okay," she smiles.

The horses make their final loop around the Circle, and pull up before the president's mansion, where the chariots come to a standstill. The same repetitive music cuts off with a flourish of trumpets.

President Snow steps forward, pausing as the crowd dies down. "Welcome, tributes," he finally says, before being broken off by another loud roar. "We welcome you." The screens flash pictures of each tribute, however, Katniss and I seem to be getting the lion's share of attention. "We wish you a happy Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favor."

The nation anthem plays before the horses move again- once more around the City Circle and then back to the Training Center. As the night set in it became harder to see the others, and once again our faces dominated the screens.

Maybe it's only me, but the ride back seems so much shorter.

As soon as we pass the threshold of the Training Center, the doors close tightly behind us, but leave us in a whole other chaos. Our prep teams, Zia leading the charge, pounce on us with a gush of praises. Flames and all, we're trapped at their mercy until Portia and Cinna rush over.

"You were wonderful," Portia notes, detaching my flaming cape and headdress. Once both sets are off, she douses them with some sort of spray, instantly extinguishing the flames.

Katniss peels her hand away and begins to massage her fingers- my own feel brittle from her grip.

"Thanks for keeping hold of me. I was getting a little shaky there," I quickly amend.

"It didn't show," she promises me. "I'm sure no one noticed."

"I'm sure they didn't notice anything but you." Face irradiated by firelight, waving, smiling, blowing kisses to screaming fans. She was radiant. "You should wear flames more often. They suit you," I say without thinking. It's too much, and even as I feel my face smiling, I can't look directly at her.

She doesn't say anything, but walks right up to me and presses her lips to my cheek.

…Why did she kiss my bruise?


	5. Chapter 5

"I've been _very_ mysterious, though," Effie begins dramatically, as the elevator shots skyward up. In the beginning, I counted her high-pitched chatter in a category between annoying and infuriating. Now I welcome it- anything to distract me from the spot on my cheek, and the image of Katniss' stylist, head cocked to the side and staring intently at me as we left the stables.

"Because, of course, Haymitch hasn't bothered to tell me your strategies. But I've done my best with what I had to work with. How Katniss sacrificed herself for her sister. How you've both successfully struggled to overcome the barbarism of your district." Effie honestly believes what she says, and that is why I can't hate her- struggling not to laugh is another matter. Poor manners are barbaric in the Capitol, where appearance takes precedence.

"Everyone has their reservations, naturally. You being from the coal district. But I said, and this was very clever of me, I said, 'Well, if you put enough pressure on coal it turns to pearls!'"

I bite my lip and look downwards. In the back of my mind, I can already envision the new district banner- miner hats, picks, and clam shaped coal. Quickly, I look around Effie, and catch a glimpse of Katniss, staring forward, face crumpling as if she can't believe the words spilling out of Effie's electric pink lips.

"Unfortunately, I can't seal the sponsor deals for you. Only Haymitch can do that. But don't worry, I'll get him to the table at gunpoint if necessary." I'm not sure what's worse; Haymitch not doing his part as a mentor, or Katniss and I relying on _her_ for sponsors.

I couldn't be more thankful when the elevator doors open wide to District 12's floor. My new home- however temporary it may be. The inside of my room is similar to the train, only slightly larger and more grandiose. The bed and walls are the same dark blue color that abruptly ends the warm sunset colors, with silver star-like threading etched into wallpaper. A single window dominates the far wall, looking more like an animated painting than a living city.

There's a knock at the door before I even make it to the bathroom.

"Peeta?" Portia opens the door, walking in purposefully. A long opaque bag dangles from her fingertips. "I've come to collect your jumpsuit," she announces energetically, eyes glistening "and I thought you might need some help out of it." She turns me around and undoes the neck. When the zipper tugs at the fabric just above my butt, I step out forgetting- but unabashed- that I'm completely nude.

"Wash up and we'll see you for dinner," I faintly her say as she hurries from the room, arranging my costume on a hanger.

Once again, the showers are beyond me. I feel like I could be driving the train with all the buttons lining the mint tiled walls. Shampoos and soaps in the scents of cherries, vanilla, leather, and things called tangoes and yukananas- without looking at the rest of the list I chose 'roses' because it seems the safest and somewhat familiar.

Stripped of makeup and decent smelling, I throw on the first shirt and pair of pants my hands touch. The last time I ate anything, Portia was divulging her plans of roasting tributes in the Remake Center- though, after listening to the crowds cheer, I have to admit she and Cinna are geniuses.

In the main room, a man and woman in stark white shirts and pants, run around the large dining table. My stomach grumbles when I realize there is no food.

"Hello, Peeta." I turn towards the voice, and see Katniss' stylist walking toward me, two glasses of yellow colored wine in each hand. "I'm Cinna, Portia's partner."

I smile to myself- he deserves an award for being the most normal person in the Capitol. As far as body enhancements go- there are faint golden lines painted along the top of Cinna's eyelids. "Hello."

"I was going to meet her, if you'd like to come along. She likes the view from the rooftop better than the balcony."

"Am I allowed up there? Aren't you afraid I'd try to jump off?"

He stops, looking thoughtful for a moment, and then smiles. "If you could, I would."

Back down the dormitory hallway, he leads me up a flight of stairs that exits into a dome shaped room. I can faintly hear the wind gusting through the walls, and I remember that we _are_ on the top floor. In district twelve, the largest building is the Justice Building, and that only has two floors.

I swallow, following him out into the night air.

The stars, missing from the sky, seemed to have fallen to the ground- the city itself glistens with millions of lights. I lean over the balcony, looking at the rainbow of different colored people bustle around the towering buildings- Cinna calls the ones crawling into space, skyscapers. If you look hard enough, they have faint blue rings that encompass the buildings with open floors- electric fields that send you flying back. It's something you can't quite picture until you see it for yourself. The bad and the beautiful in one place- all the wonders available, but it drove everyone here to insanity. Why else would they have the Hunger Games?

"Cinna, who are you-" Portia stops abruptly as she emerges from the other side of the dome, her eyes widening as she takes me in. Behind her there's an open garden- cement ground partially covered with rows of flowerbeds and small floral trees planted in decorated pots. Trails of different colored tiles weave through the garden into a patio at the center. "I wasn't expecting to see you," she confesses, closing the distance. "Is coming Katniss up, as well?"

Cinna hands her a wine glass. "Not that I know of. I ran into Peeta when I was coming to see you, and thought he might like to see the garden."

It wasn't exactly my first thought or reason for coming to the rooftop, but it's relaxing. Each tree has a pair of tiny silver chimes attached to its branches- they make a soft tinkling noise each time the wind blows. Which is very often.

"This is one my favorite spots in the entire Capitol. There's something comforting about being surrounded by nature- untouched, uncorrupted." Cinna and I follow behind, as Portia leads us to the patio, all the while pointing out different flowers. "Baby's breath, hyacinth, rosemary, heather, and- my favorite- gardenia." She points at a bush with white flowers, petals swirling together from the middle like water down a drain. It's the kind of flower I would have frosted on the showcase cakes. My dad would always tell me he would catch Primrose at the window, staring at each cake with sparkling eyes.

I sigh, sitting down one of the few benches positioned outwards, directly facing the city. I wonder how they're doing right now- is Katniss' family learning how to survive without her to provide, and my father carrying on the bakery without my help? In contrast, even I'd agree she has more to live for.

"I heard my team gave you a tough time earlier," Portia notes, taking a seat next to me.

I shake my head in mock horror. "The hair dying was horrible."

She laughs quietly. "Zia told me Calix was teasing you. Though I'm sure they were only talking about their favorite victors. Lord knows, I constantly hear enough about Finnick from Zia."

"They were trying to decide which victor I would be good with," I admit. If that's what my prep team considers teasing, my brothers would be arrested for assault. "Apparently I'm an Annie type."

Cinna makes a face, but it he covers it quickly. "She is very quiet girl." He casually glances around, moving to stand close to Portia. "Her victory proved that sometimes being loved is a greater advantage than being strong."

"What about Naomi?" That was the other name they mentioned- the way Zia said her name, makes me oddly curious about how she won.

"Naomi?" Portia repeats, having to think for a moment. "She was the career from district two- same year- right?" Cinna nods. "Her partner was killed during the cornucopia, and the next day she took out both tributes from district one and four while they slept- even though she didn't win, she's still infamous for taking apart such a strong alliance from the inside. Lovely girl."

"Without the careers, the other tributes won't fight one another," Cinna remarks off-hand. I've can't remember a game where district one or two haven't dominated the finals. It stands to reason- while I was elbows deep learning how to bake bread; they were playing with knives and throwing spears. No amount of luck would save me if I have to fight one hand to hand.

"We seem very callous to you," Cinna continues, misinterpreting the scowl on my face. "Katniss had the same expression when we were talking earlier."

"Peeta, have you ever read a book and felt for the main character? Not as if they were a made up person, but a human as real as you and me- celebrated their happiness, mourned their loss. Well, that's how the games are here. You're a part of their story." She stands up, reaching into the bush, touching one of its white flowers as if it were something precious. "Get into their hearts, and they'll help you. No one likes watching their favorite character die."

And this is why I was brought up here- a strategy meeting. "So you want me to charm the audience."

Portia bends down and plucks a purple flower, pressing it in my palm- rosemary, she called it. The two small blossoms hug close together, almost forming one square-petalled flower. She waits until I look into her eyes before whispering, "You _need_ to appeal to the Gamemakers. They're the writers- not the men and women cheering for you."

My mouth feels dry, remembering how, in the past, they easily changed the arena and players to their will. "…Maybe if I bake them a cake."

Portia laughs, but the tight feeling in my chest doesn't go away.

"We should be heading back downstairs," Cinna says, playing with the stem of his empty wine glass. "Dinner should be ready."

I couldn't be more thankful when I walk back into the main room, and find he was exactly right. In our absence, food was placed in every available spot around the six place settings. A green mess with tiny, red tomatoes, bowls of fruits, and large platters covered by silver lids- though I can't see inside, I know whatever they are, must be kept warm.

Portia decides we'll wait on the balcony until the rest of our party arrives. The concert hall, where the victor's interview will take place, is across the road- the main interviews will be in the street of City Circle itself.

When she moves onto pointing out other important buildings, like the president's mansion, Cinna leans over. "Thank you for your cooperation earlier. I know the hand holding might seem a little unusual given the situation."

Portia doesn't seem to notice we've stopped listening to her- too absorbed in explaining the different areas of the city.

"Don't worry," I say, smiling. "After hearing that we were wearing flames, everything else sounds normal-"

"Here they come," Portia announces. She winks at me, before walking over to greet Effie.

Katniss, trailing behind, has her eyes light up when she catches sight of the two stylists. Despite the fact I know it's the addition of Cinna that makes her smile, I can feel the blush burning my face.

"Peeta." Cinna catches me by the shoulder. "If there's anything that might help- not only yourself, but Katniss, too- don't be afraid to tell Haymitch. He's much smarter than he seems. Trust him."

We all take our seats and a man in a white tunic fills our glasses with wine. I turn him away, asking for water instead. Just before dinner is served, Haymitch arrives. His hair is cleaned and styled, clothing neat, but he's finally complete when a woman with glowing red hair hands him a drink.

The high spirits from their successful show seem to civil Effie and our mentor relationship. I vaguely listen between the slices of roast beef and mushroom soup, as they compliment Cinna and Portia's hard work. When the conversation focuses on our next outfits, and possible revival of fake fire, I subtly glance at Katniss.

Her eyes follow the woman's hand, as she holds a small lighter to a cake. With a click, flames lick the top layer.

"What makes it burn?" she asks, her glazed eyes running over the cake in wonder. An empty glass rests inches from her fingertips. "Is it alcohol? That's the thing I wa- oh! I know you!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Katniss," Effie snaps. "How could you possibly know an Avox? The very thought."

Katniss looks curiously at the woman and back to Effie. "What's an Avox?"

"Someone who committed a crime," Haymitch answers. "They cut her tongue so she can't speak. She's probably a traitor of some sort. Not likely you'd know her," he emphasizes the last part.

The woman is visibly shaken, keeping her head down as she sets a stack of smaller plates to the side. She seems tame for the Capitol, no tattoos, no makeup, but there's something about her appearance that hinted she was not from the districts. Now I'm not too sure- if Katniss knew her, then shouldn't I?

Effie seems to notice nothing wrong. "And even if you did, you're not to speak to one of them unless it's to give an order. Of course, you don't really know her."

She begins to panic, her eyes avoiding any of the attendants- the Avoxes. District twelve is small, but not so small the market wouldn't hear of a woman being taken away by the peacekeepers. That leaves only one place that their meeting would be kept secret. The forest. "No, I guess not, I just-"

I snap my fingers. "Delly Cartwright. That's who it is," I say enthusiastically, offering the first name that pops into mind. "I kept thinking she looked familiar as well. Then I realized she's a dead ringer for Delly." They could look similar- well, to a blind person. Golden blonde, curly hair, podgy face with red cheeks- she was nothing like the stick figured woman serving dinner.

Katniss smiles awkwardly. "Of course, that's who I was thinking of. It must be the hair."

"Something about the eyes, too," I throw in for good measure.

"Oh, well. If that's all it is," Cinna allows, visibly calming Katniss. "And yes, the cake has spirits, but all the alcohol has burned off. I ordered it specially in honor of your fiery debut."

When the cake is gone, we head into the living area to watch the replay of the tribute parade. Effie is quiet for once, silently marveling over the districts, but none compare to our entrance.

"Whose idea was the hand holding?"

"Cinna's," Portia says proudly.

"Just the perfect touch of rebellion," Haymitch mutters to himself. _Rebellion_? Saying that we won't kill the other isn't rebellion- it's suicide. If Katniss and I appear as an inseparable team it will only make us a bigger target for the other tributes. "Very nice."

Of course, when we finally make it to the arena, I won't hurt her, but I've seen this gone badly before. A few years ago, this older girl and twelve-year-old boy from the same district where hiding in a broken building. When the careers found and killed the boy, they knew she had to be close by. Teams never last.

The cameras catch one last glimpse of each district before disappearing into the stables- the doors close behind our chariot and Haymitch snaps off the TV.

"Tomorrow morning is the first training session. Meet me for breakfast and I'll tell you exactly how I want you to play it. Now go get some sleep while the grown-ups talk."

I walk with Katniss to the dormitories. When we reach her door, I step forward, blocking half of the entrance. "_So_…Delly Cartwright. Imagine finding her lookalike here."

What are the odds of Katniss recognizing a single attendant in the entire Capitol? There are at least three on our floor- the rest of the building, and the likelihood that the training center isn't the only place in the city where they have servants. Could they also know about her hunting?

Katniss doesn't response, but her face is very expressive. She can't answer- I already knew that.

"Have you been on the roof yet? Cinna showed me. You can practically see the whole city." After a moment I add, "The wind's a bit loud, though." Along with the chimes- that could have been why Portia was whispering at points.

"Can we just go up?"

"Sure, come on." I lead her to the escape, and a few times I look back, making sure she was still with me. It must have been the years spent secretly venturing into the woods, but Katniss is not only taciturn, but even the way she walks is nearly inaudible. Growing up in the market is the opposite- it may not be the most exciting place in the world, but we're very social. I've never been good with silence.

The sky is darker when we step out of the dome. The lights won't allow for stars, but watching Katniss' reaction is worth the loss.

"I asked Cinna why they let us up here. Weren't they worried some of the tributes might decide to jump right over the side?"

"What'd he say?"

"You can't," I say, squinting at our own 'safety net' below. "Some kind of electric field throws you back on the roof."

"Always worried about our safety," I barely hear her mutter. "Do you think they're watching us now?"

"Maybe," I allow. Though there's barely any reason for suspicion, I wouldn't put it past them to have every corner of the Training Center monitored- especially a remote rooftop, with a high-tech…_loss prevention_ system. Though, if I follow our stylists' lead, there might be one place. "Come see the garden."

She stops, bending over to examine a flower. Her one hand clutches her knees more for comfort than balance. "…were in the woods one day. Hidden, waiting for game."

I crouch lower. "You and your father?"

"No, my friend Gale," she says, shaking her head. "Suddenly all the birds stopped singing at once. Except one. As if it were giving a warning call. And then we saw her. I'm sure it was the same girl. A boy was with her. Their clothes were tattered. They had dark circles under their eyes from no sleep. They were running as if their lives depended on it.

"The hovercraft appeared out of nowhere. I mean, one moment the sky was empty and the next it was there. It didn't make a sound, but they saw it. A net dropped down on the girl and carried her up, fast, so fast like the elevator. They shot some sort of spear through the boy. It was attached to a cable and they hauled him up as well. But I'm certain he was dead. We heard the girl scream once. The boy's name, I think." A shiver runs through her body as the wind blows strongly. "Then it was gone, the hovercraft. Vanished into thin air. And the birds began to sing again, as if nothing had happened."

"Did they see you?"

"I don't know. We were under a shelf of rock." Katniss grabs her arms, curling in on herself.

I slip out of my jacket. "You're shivering," I explain, setting it over her shoulders. Katniss twitches, as the material touches her, but doesn't move grateful for the warmth. "They were from here?"

She nods.

"Where do you suppose they were going?" The closest district took us hours to reach- what did they think they find in twelve? Barbarians and pearls?

She takes a steady breath. "I don't know that. Or why they would leave here."

"I'd leave here," I disagree, looking around half expecting someone to appear- a couple peacekeepers dropping from the sky, tongue-less attendants in white tunics, Effie. Back home, there may be starving people, but at least they have their tongues, and the peacekeepers are more like decorations. It would be nice to see it one last time. "I'd go home now if they let me. But you have to admit, the food's prime."

Katniss stares at me, curiously.

I stand up. "It's getting chilly. We better go in." "Your friend Gale. He's the one who took your sister away at the reaping…?" I let myself drift off.

"Yes. Do you know him?"

"Not really." He's in Al's year and I accidentally found out Delly had a crush on him once. "I hear girls talk about him a lot. I though he was your cousin or something. You favor each other."

"No, we're not related."

"Did he come to say good-bye to you?"

"Yes," she says hesitantly. "So did your father. He brought me cookies."

I freeze. "Really?" Why would he do that? I mean, I barely saw him for a few seconds before he disappeared. It finally hits me that the small package in his hand was for her all along- presents from my father and faith from my mother.

"Well, he likes you and your sister. I think he wishes he had a daughter instead of a houseful of boys." After all, Katniss does put the majority of meat on our table. My baking and decorating aren't as useful as hunting- especially now with the games only a week away.

"He knew your mother when they were kids," I add, trying to change the subject.

"Oh." Katniss nods to herself, as if remembering something. "Yes. She grew up in town."

We're her door, and Katniss takes off the jacket, handing it back. "See you in the morning then."

"See you," I agree, walking away.

Grown-up talk must be over- the lights are dimmed and rather than babbling voices, my footsteps are the only noise echoing through the hallways.

This must be how it is every year. Once the Capitol people leave, the life slowly drains from the penthouse. In the other floors, the surplus of rooms must be taken up by their second mentor and perhaps past victors who come along for the fun- the only people staying here will be the three of us.

_Trust Haymitch_, Cinna's words ring in my ears. After all those years surrounded by death and silence, I want to believe that some part of the lone victor might be of help to one of our survival. Telling us what to do, how to act, where to go in the arena, who to look out for…

_If there's anything that might help- not only yourself, but Katniss, too…You need to appeal to the Gamemakers…All the birds stopped singing at once. Except one. _

I close my eyes, listening to the sound of rain tapping softly against my window. Images of songbirds and a girl in a red dress dance across my eyelids, lulling me to sleep.


End file.
